


Meddle Not

by Artifiction



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Claim, Dragons, First Cetagandan War, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:05:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artifiction/pseuds/Artifiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barrayarr with Dragons, or A Short Tale Of The First Cetagandan War. (Because why not.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meddle Not

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ms_cataclysm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_cataclysm/pseuds/ms_cataclysm) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2013](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2013) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Barrayar with dragons please -elegant Ceta dragons, mutant dragons from glow in the dark Vorkosigan Vashnoi, vor dragon ladies , time of isolation folk dragons, genetically modified dragons from Jackson's Hole or all and any of the above
> 
>  
> 
> **Author's note:**
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote this based on the idea of 'what if Barrayar's fauna was as unpleasant as it's flora'. I'll continue it if I find additional inspiration, but it's been on my computer for two weeks without changing, so I submit it for your perusal. Don't tell me it feels unfinished: I know. I just don't know what to do with it. So sue me.

There was nothing more satisfying, Piotr Pierre Vorkosigan felt, than the sound of claws tearing through a lightflyer’s sheet armor and striking fuel with the elegant precision of a scalpel. Skraja, currently occupied with a particularly crunchy femur of what had once been a well-toasted Cetagandan pilot, seemed to agree, judging by the way she preened as his careful, dexterous hands picked fragments of the downed vehicle from between her ridged scales. She was getting better: the scouting lightflyer had barely even had time to react to a half-ton of winged vengeance appearing out of cloud cover, and the single, lethal swipe had taken it down in one pass.  
  
            “General Piotr. The hellfuries are making progress over the supply depot. For every shuttle that’s managed to get away today, we’ve taken down almost a dozen.”  
  
He turned. The newcomer was Harren Vormiere, one of his better riders.  
  
            “Good. Cease the attacks. If the local garrison commander is anything like the ones in the past three districts, he’ll be begging for help from headquarters to drop the heavy end of the hammer on us. Let’s make sure he drops it on his foot.”  
  
Harren gave a quick nod, and took off at a jog back towards camp, already calling out orders. Beneath Piotr’s hand, Skraja shifted, snout turning back towards him as if to ask, ‘and why exactly have you stopped cleaning my scales?’. He chuckled, and resumed his careful work. The early settlers of Barrayar had found the plantlife generally toxic and ugly, and while the fauna had added ‘dangerous’ to that list, nine generations had managed to bring some of the beasts to heel. Not tame them: Piotr had no illusions that his partnership with the hellfury was anything less than a partnership, but since the beast seemed to prefer the painted flesh of ghem-lords to any other game, they got along well. The Cetagandans had been expecting a backwater with plentiful natural resources and little in the way of defenses. Instead, they’d found a planet populated by savage people determined to protect their homes, and a multitude of beasts not entirely opposed to helping them. A ragebull was more than a match for an armored groundcar in a head-on collision, the acidic slime of fleshrenders seemed to be just as competent at dissolving fortifications as it was at skin, and, of course, the prized hellfuries were taking a perverse joy in tearing engines off of anything that flew. Such a pleasure, in fact, that just the other day, when one of the younger creatures had been injured, he had personally witnessed an utterly unfamiliar fury, with no Vor Aerie brand, appear and willingly kneel for a saddle. It was unheard of, and yet, it had happened before his very eyes. “We live in interesting times, Skraja,” he whispered. The fury rumbled something in her chest in response.  


* * *

  
The vein throbbing in the _ghem-_ General Yenaro’s forehead seemed ready to burst. “Dragons. They took our fuel shipments down… with _dragons_.”

The reporting _ghem-_ Colonel was willing to look at everything except his superior officer’s eyes. “I don’t know if they were dragons, precisely, sir, but they had scales, wing, and claws. Flying lizards, perhaps. And out of all the shipments, we only got 10%, at best, and that was from the first district affected. We haven’t gotten more than half of that since then.”

“And our heavy support…?”

“Found nothing, sir.  They were long gone by the time we got there. We glassed their campsite just in case, but they hadn’t even left supply caches behind.”  
  
Yenaro levered himself from his seat with the edge of the desk, knuckles white. "I can't go back to Eta Ceta and tell the Emperor that our invasion force was stymied by flying, scaled lizards. I refuse to become some... some discredited, errant invasion force explained away by diplomats for the next century. It won't happen. These are... barbarians!  Dirt-eating peasants! Ten years ago, they didn't even have... electricity! This was supposed to be an... an.. annexation of days, not this miserable attrition of months! In three weeks, I'll have been here for half year. And every day that we delay, they are able to get more and more Galactic support for their war. War! A thousand cavemen are making _war with Cetaganda_ , and we can't crush them." His rage seemed undercut with a layer of desperation. "If we retreat now, I'll be executed for failure. Or worse. But if we don't make progress, I don't know that I won't be _disappeared_ for making the Cetagandan Military look weak."  
  
The colonel didn't seem to be entirely comfortable with listening to Yenaro's ramblings, but he clearly wasn't about to say something to his face. Yenaro noticed the discomfort, and waved his hand. "You're dismissed. But tell General Kalis to bring the nuclears from our orbital ships down here. Their little guerillas can fly away from our retaliation. I doubt their cities can."  
  
The bleak, distant look on Yenaro's face unsettled even the _ghem-_ Colonel, and he quickly backed out of the room, looking no less nervous than when he had entered to give the report. 


End file.
